I Buried You in the High Plains
Commissioned by the Sheldon Museum of ArtIn 2000, I was invited to participate in a group show at the Sheldon Art Museum entitled, Documenting Performance, Preserving Concepts. The curator gave no restraints, assuring me that whatever I created ‘would be great.’ At the time, I was preparing to leave the state and thought about the most significant thing that had happened during my 4 years in Nebraska: falling in love with a man who didn’t love me back.
Though William and I had dated just a few months, I fell hard. Too bad he was still obsessed with his ex-fiancee. Try as I might, I could not exorcise her memory. Since William and I lived an hour apart, our meet ups were mostly confined to the weekends, and we spent just 9 nights together. On the last, I had worn a white silk nightgown. When I returned home, I tossed the nightie on my closet floor where it lay unwashed long after William ended things .
When I left the state, I was determined to leave his memory behind.
Stepping into the Sheldon gallery, visitors were greeted by white wall bearing 3 artworks: on the left, a framed sketch of Christo’s Wrapped Venus; on the right, a photograph from a Chris Burden performance and in the middle, my piece. (The opposite wall had a single item: a selection from Boîte-en-valise / Box in a Valise by Marcel Duchamp!)
I Buried You in the High Plains began as an installation. Affixed to the wall was a long white shelf, holding 9 identical translucent blue glass bottles; inside each bottle, a strip of white vellum with WILLIAM, handwritten. Next, a shovel and in a simple white frame, an explanation of the piece printed on white vellum. Nearby, on a simple dress form, my white nightgown.
Throughout the show’s run, I visited the gallery every so often to remove one glass bottle, the shovel, and the white dress. Guided by a topographical map of the state, I drove to an area of the high plains and, wearing the gown, buried the bottle containing his name. The burials were documented by Polaroid photos. Each time I returned to the Sheldon, I replaced the gown on the form, the shovel on the wall, and a photo where its bottle had been.
Burial #9 The Final Interment
The night before the show closed, I staged the last and final burial, an invitation-only event in the sculpture garden at the Sheldon. Knowing that my time in Nebraska was coming to an end, I wanted to be surrounded by those closest to me.
I made each invitation by hand: a simple white notecard, folded and secured with a white satin ribbon, reminiscent of the dress. Also inside, one extra Polaroid from the previous burials and a spoonful of dirt.
Digging a hole is long and dull, especially when repeatedly hitting tree roots and having to start all over. Many guests were new moms and babies, and I was delighted when they lost interest in me and happily chatted among themselves.
When the hole was ready, I snuck behind a bush and changed from the white gown into an identical black one. I tossed in the bottle and the white dress, then covered with dirt.
I was free.
